


The Herald Angel Sings

by maniacalmole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing....But what does Crowley think of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald Angel Sings

                “ _Hark, the herald angels si-ing_ ….” Aziraphale absentmindedly hummed the rest of the phrase while he dusted the bookshelf. His actions resulted more in transporting the dust from the books onto his shop window. This was fine by him. Not only did having a dusty window reduce customers, but it also gave it a nice, snowy effect from the inside. “ _God and sinners reconciled_ ….” He moved along to the next shelf. The window was almost dusty enough now that he could hardly see the fairy lights from the shop across the street. He didn’t mind them, but if he couldn’t see out, then others couldn’t see in. There was nothing like being able to see inside a store that made people want to go into it.

                “ _With angelic host proclaim_ ….” Technically, modern Christmas was a mess. These days it was such a combination of pagan traditions and commercialism that he was not at all sure how heaven would actually feel about the holiday. Still, Aziraphale had found that in order to get presents, people around this time of year had to start acting a whole lot nicer to each other. Some acted nice without regards to presents, many valued things like charity and family, and some kept the idea of faith about it, so it did enough good, in his opinion. He’d leave the overcrowded shopping malls and worrying about religious hypocrisies to others, like Crowley, who could make use of them, and he’d do what he could with the joy and merriment and whatnot, instead.

                “ _Glory to the new-born_ —Oh, Crowley. I had no idea you were here.” He had taken off the door’s bell, because if it rang when the door opened, then the customers expected him to have heard it, and therefore to acknowledge their presence.

                “Hi.” The demon was slouched by the door, looking a bit strained.

                “So sorry. You should have let me know you were here. I know you don’t like my singing.” For the past week or so, whenever he started to sing a carol or a hymn, Crowley would snap at him. Aziraphale tutted, but did not push the matter.

                But now, Crowley had a strange look on his face. It was one the angel was growing to recognize, now that they’d been spending more time together. It was an embarrassed and begrudging look. It was usually followed by him saying something he would never have admitted to before…well, the end-of-the-world-that-wasn’t. But things had changed. Aziraphale knew something was coming. He waited curiously.

                The demon said, in a voice that was so irritable that for a moment the angel thought he must have misheard his actual words, “I love your singing.”

                “Erm. Come again?”

                The demon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He turned his head slightly, so that he was not looking at Aziraphale, and regarded the wall with a blasé expression. He said, his voice still saturated with a tone of annoyance, enough to cover up whatever was underneath, “Your singing is the most beautiful sound on Earth. And that’s because, obviously, you have the literal Voice of an Angel. Don’t be too proud, it’s the only one on Earth, currently—although those Celtic Women people come pretty close….But when you sing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, I really _do_ ‘harken’, and it’s very embarrassing when you’re trying to look casual and, wham, next thing you know you’re like a blessed puppy listening spellbound to a dog whistle.” Crowley turned back to him and gave him an accusing look over the top of his sunglasses.

                Aziraphale stared at him bemusedly for a few seconds. Crowley turned slightly red and pushed his sunglasses back up to cover his eyes. Aziraphale gave a tiny cough.

                “So….you want me to stop?”

                “No.” He had sounded almost angry. Aziraphale, a bit taken aback, stood up straighter and looked at him quizzically. Crowley gave an exasperated sigh. “Do whatever you like, angel. It’d hardly be reasonable of me to come into your own shop and ask you to stop singing. I can always leave if I want.”

                Aziraphale nodded. Crowley did not move. The angel pursed his lips to keep from smiling.

                “I’ll just _hum_ a tune, then?” Aziraphale said politely. “A nice compromise, hm?”

                Crowley shrugged one shoulder. Aziraphale smiled and returned to his dusting. He hummed ‘The Holly and the Ivy’. He dusted away, and when he had cleared off a small mirror he had in the back of the shop, he saw Crowley still leaning against the wall behind him, watching him with an expression of peace on his face. And Aziraphale hummed on, not seeing why he should disrupt anyone’s peace, even a demon’s, around Christmas.


End file.
